


Darlin' Companion

by theweddingofthefoxes



Category: Logan Lucky (2017)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Happy Ending, Jealousy, Miscommunication, cowgirl style
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-04-07 21:18:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19093330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theweddingofthefoxes/pseuds/theweddingofthefoxes
Summary: Something got lost in translation, and now Clyde is feeling a bit jealous. You're going to have to get to the bottom of it.





	Darlin' Companion

You hadn’t seen Jeff since high school, though you’d been keeping up through Facebook over the last few years. Back in the day, you’d been part of the same friend group, though of course those always seem to gently dissolve after graduation. Now he was out here for work, here of all places! As soon as he knew he was coming this way, he sent you a message inviting you to meet for lunch, and since it was your day off, you accepted. 

Life was treating you both well. He was engaged to a gorgeous woman he’d met when they were both studying environmental science in college. She was actually from West Virginia, too -- she was going to meet him at his hotel that night and then the two of them would go spend time with her extended family. “After two weeks of traveling, I’m so glad I’ll finally get to see her again. Skype’s just not the same!”

He had a good job, traveling often to test water all over the country, helping find new ways to protect lakes and streams. He felt fulfilled, happy. “And what about you?”

You? You were working a job with good benefits, one with lots of vacation time. You had adopted a big fat cat that sat still and sun-soaked as a planter in the windowsill, and you had someone to do your hair anytime you felt like changing the color. And you had Clyde. Clyde, who was so good, who was so thoughtful he would fill your gas tank if he so much as took your car down the street, who had only ever shown anything resembling real aggression once -- when someone at the bar called you a bitch for turning down an offer for a drink -- who loved to be your pillow while the two of you lay in comfortable quiet reading or watching a bad old horror movie on TV, who was so enthusiastic about being ridden that just you sitting in his lap filled him with delight, delight you could immediately feel. 

Well, you didn’t have to mention that part to Jeff. 

Still, though, he’s impressed by Clyde, even just through hearsay. A wounded veteran turned small business owner, that’s a hell of an accomplishment, he says, and his wonder is genuine. You know you’ve given him the Shark Tank spin on Cyde’s life story, hey, you just can’t help but boast when you talk about him, but the small still moments that you share are so much harder to put into words than the broadly impressive summary, and besides that, those moments feel so private, they belong only to the two of you. 

You ask for an order of macaroni and cheese to go -- Clyde would probably want some as a snack later -- and say your goodbyes to Jeff, who seems very glad to have seen you but also seems eager to be on his way back to his hotel room after a whirlwind day of traveling. You take the long way home, enjoying the sunshine pouring in through the car windows.

In the late afternoon, Clyde calls, as he often does, to ask if he should pick up something for dinner. “Oh, god, Jeff and I had so much food earlier,” you tell him. 

“Right, yeah. The scientist.”

“Yeah, that’s right, that’s him. The one I went to school with But I got you some food too, it’s in the fridge right now. So you can come right home.”

“I’ll probably be late this time, darlin. We’re a little short tonight.”

“I’ll wait up, I don’t mind.”

“Only if you want to, really.” Clyde pauses. “So how was lunch?”

“Pretty good. It was nice catching up.”

“Mm. I believe it.”

Already you sense something is a bit off. Clyde isn’t typically the jealous type -- you’d guess that you have as many male friends as you do female, and Clyde has never acted evasive or weird when you hung out with any of them, even when you’ve gone camping together or otherwise been in close quarters. What in the world made Jeff different? He wasn’t unattractive or anything, but certainly not striking, and nowhere near as lovely as Clyde is. Maybe you’re just imagining things.

“Everything all right?” you want to know.

“Oh, just a little worn out,” he insists. “Cause we’re short, you know.”

“Come home and sleep,” you tease, and normally he’d play along, but he doesn’t seem to get the joke this time, or maybe he just doesn’t want to. 

“You know I can’t do that, now.”

By the time you hang up, you’re certain of it. He’s jealous and he’s bad at hiding it, though he’s putting real effort into trying. You’ll have to find out what the matter is once he does get home, no matter how late it ends up being. You decide you are justified in taking a single bite of his macaroni and cheese as revenge. 

He’s not kidding about what hour he’s getting home. That’s not unusual, though, that’s just the nature of bar work. You’re curled up in bed, with just the lamp light on, watching Netflix, and it’s getting close to one in the morning. You hear his car pull into the driveway (it is one of the very few brand new things he owns; apparently he fucked up the last one in some kind of reckless driving incident), the faint sounds of Johnny Cash playing live at San Quentin rising from the cab until he turns off the ignition. You arrange yourself in bed so you look as perfectly tousled and sleepy as you can while still looking good, though he’d tell you that you look good all the time, even when you tried cutting your own hair after a few glasses of wine and had to suffer the consequences for a couple of hours until Mellie could make a house call. One bare leg out on top of the covers.

You hear him enter the house, kick off his shoes in the foyer, then into the bathroom to wash up and undress. He hasn’t called hello to you yet, and you aren’t going to be the first. You pretend to be engrossed in the reveal of the winner of the cooking competition you’ve had on when he finally makes his way into the bedroom, just in boxer shorts. 

“Look who’s home,” you say, unable to help yourself. He makes a face like he’s just been spotted out in public by someone he was hoping to avoid, and you frown. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Clyde. Do you think I’m completely oblivious?”

He sighs. “No. Course I don’t.”

“Well then you know I know you’ve been acting weird all day.”

At least he gets right to the point, now that you’re in the same room together. He sits down on the edge of the bed, looking for all the world like he’s about to confess some terrible secret. “That Jeff is sweet on you, right?”

“What?” Again, you’re baffled. How has he managed to reach this conclusion? 

“I saw his Facebook.” He pronounces this like he’s only become familiar with the concept of Facebook earlier that day, even though he’s had one for years. He doesn’t really use it much, though. 

You straighten up, crossing your legs (one still under the blanket, one above) and grab your phone. “Okay. I’m going to get to the bottom of this because I have had no idea what you’re talking about all day.” 

“He’s talkin’ about you…”

“I think I’d know!”

And then, when you see what Jeff posted earlier that day, it all makes sense. 

“Cannot WAIT to see my gorgeous girl in West Virginia today! I’ve been dreaming about her every night.”

You absolutely can’t help but laugh, and thankfully, Clyde isn’t annoyed, just confused. 

“Honey. Oh, no. I’m so sorry you thought that was about me.” 

“But didn’t he come to see you today?”

“He’s been traveling for work since the beginning of the month and is meeting his wife at the Hyatt. Or I guess he already met her, like, hours ago. But that post is about Joanna, not me.”

Anyone who had ever pretended to throw a stick for a dog would recognize the look on Clyde’s face. “Well, he never said Joanna.”

You lean forward, grabbing his arms so you can pull him back towards you, and he becomes as pliable as a willow branch. “Have you considered, Clyde who lights up my life, that he wouldn’t need to say Joanna because everyone who’s friends with him knows he’s obsessed with her and he’s not accounting for other people snooping?”

“He oughta say the name at least.” Now he is being willfully stubborn, but he can’t help but smile, he’s trying to keep from laughing. “Suppose she thinks that he’s talkin’ about some other girl that he went and got lunch with…”

“Oh I guarantee you they’ve been fucking since they checked in. If she’s worried about me, she needs to get her head checked.”

“Was he _talkin’_ about fuckin’ her that much?”

“I can read between the lines.”

“Think he was doin’ the same?”

“I’m much too much of a lady to speculate.”

“I suspect, darlin’, that is a lie.”

“I mean, once I started telling him about the big, strong, gorgeous bartender that was waiting for me back home, well, I’m sure he was well aware…” By now he is fully straddling you, you have pulled him all the way on top, and he’s leaning on his good elbow, rapt. 

“Go on,” he tells you.

“Go on about what?”

“Now you’re bein’ unfair to me.”

“Me?” you giggle. “I’ve been praising you up and down all day and you think I’m being unfair? I think you owe me for raising your reputation in my friend group.”

“Hmm. I suppose you got a point there.” With sudden sureness, he reverses your positions, rolling you both easily so suddenly he’s beneath you and he’s looking up at you, both of you now tangled in the covers. With his good hand, he reaches playfully up your first before suddenly growing serious, sliding his hand back down so it sits on your ribs instead. “I oughtta apologize, though, in all honesty. Even if that friend of yours was talkin’ about you, that’s not anything you did.”

“Clyde. I was just confused, more than anything. I didn’t want you to be so unhappy for no reason.”

“I just got too in my head about it.”

“You’re a little bit ridiculous.” You wonder if he can tell, from the indulgent way that you say it, that you don’t mind a little bit of jealousy, just a little bit, the kind that can be smoothed over as easily as a wrinkle in the bedding. He smiles at that, and you think yes, surely he can. He gets you in a way that no one else really does. 

“It was awful sweet of you to wait up so late to reassure me.”

“Who says that’s the only reason?” you ask, and you may as well have said _game on_ , since his hand moves right back up your chest the second he’s processed what you’ve told him. Whether he’s simply in the mood or eager to make up to you for earlier in intimacy, or both, he’s ready to go, wants to touch and kiss and more.

“Sweetheart,” he hums, and you settle yourself up against him, gently grinding against him. The two of you have become an ouroboros of arousal now; the more you grind, the more encouraged he is to touch and squeeze, which just gets you going harder and faster. There is something delicious about the amateurish-clothed humping for a few minutes, but it’s not going to cut it forever. It’s not long before Clyde loses patience and pulls your underwear down in a perfect, practiced motion. This is something you adore about him, the way he will suddenly decide that he’s taking action, that he’s going to _have_ you. There’s never much fanfare, just total decisiveness. 

Sometimes you suspect that he has a new mattress but kept the shitty old bedframe because he likes the sound of it squeaking while the two of you go at it, and that’s perfectly fine by you. Let the thing snap right off its legs for all you care. You’re much more occupied with the sounds that he makes, and maybe his relief is making him all the louder and freer. The way he says your name alone has you on the edge of coming.

By the time you reach climax, you’re hardly able to make a sound, and his fingers have been digging into your thighs so hard that later there will be little prints that he will insist on kissing. Clyde’s encouraging you, his yes’s and pleas low and rumbling down in his throat, the sounds escaping over his pants and moans. You can’t imagine a sound better than that, all of that. The only time you’d heard him raise his voice is when he’s getting fucked.

“Darlin’--” he says, and then he’s gone, and his face is naked with love. 

He’s exhausted, once it’s all said and done, but a soft kind of exhausted, pleased that all of his fears have evaporated into nothing. All he wants now, other than to sleep, is for you to know that his adoration is yours for the taking, and of course you know that, nothing has ever been so obvious, except for the fact that that Facebook post was totally talking about Jeff’s wife. He is so tall and wide, like a gate protecting you from the world outside, and he smells a little like the bar except that’s not a bad thing, and he has wrung so much pleasure out of you that you hope you dream about it all night.

**Author's Note:**

> Is there anything cuter than Clyde/reader? I'm hard-pressed to think of anything. 
> 
> Let's be friends on [Tumblr](https://theweddingofthefoxes.tumblr.com/)


End file.
